The Snake's Den
by iLOVEsanMYsis
Summary: The bleak outlook on his life, by not just himself but by others as well, wasn't all that welcoming. He wanted - needed - warmth...a security to hold onto, but, as, piece by piece, everything he had was taken away, where else was he left to turn?
1. Chapter 1

_**The Snake's Den**_

**Chapter 1**

"M-my Lord?"

The Death Eater, whose voice had been trembling in fear, suddenly found himself screaming on the floor, writhing in pain.

"Why are you still here, you pathetic berk?" Voldemort hissed angrily, lifting the curse. "You are to be with the other Death Eaters preparing the attack on the Potter home!"

"I-I apologize, my lord, please forgive me!" He said, kneeling quickly before jumping to his feet and taking off.

Voldemort growled. His minions were like pawns, needing to be told where to go and what to do, with no capacity for independent thought in their brains whatsoever. It was rather…infuriating at times, to say the least.

A few minutes later, a robed figure approached, causing Voldemort to look up. Raising a brow, he reached forward and took off the mask of the Death Eater before him.

"Ah, Lucius…what is it?"

Lucius kneeled to kiss the moldy, torn hem of Voldemort's robes, fighting back a look of disgust at the taste. As he rose, he said, "We are ready to leave on your command, my Lord. Will you be accompanying us on our mission?"

"Yes, I believe I will, Lucius. Just to see what Potter's reaction is before I take him as my torture toy." Voldemort said with a half smirk, half sadistic grin. "Shall we go, then?"

"On your command, my Lord." Lucius said as his mask was handed back to him. With a slightly agitated flip of his hair, he deftly placed it back on his face, careful to make sure his whole face was covered.

"Do you know what happens, Lucius, when a mutt looses his home?" Voldemort asked as he stood.

The long haired blond shook his head in confusion. What, exactly, did this have to do with the mission? "No, my Lord…I'm afraid not."

"It runs and tries to hide…and when it is found, it fights back until someone either kills it, or abuses and neglects. Shall we go find out what our little mutt Potter will do?"

Lucius smirked in understanding. "Yes, my Lord. Your will is my command."

* * *

In Number Four, Privet Drive, a young boy lay spread-eagled on his bed, hands tucked behind his head of messy black hair. He wore old clothes from his cousin Dudley that were just a tad too big; they were originally much larger, but he was fortunate enough that the hand-me-downs had shrunk in the wash.

The extra fabric from his overlarge gray shirt lay draped over his bed around his torso, defining his lean, well-shaped stature. The lightning bolt shaped scar on his forehead seemed to be pink in color, and looked brand new, despite the fact that he'd had it since he was a little boy.

Harry Potter, the Boy Who Lived, the young man who had defied Voldemort his entire life, was bored. Confined to his room, he was getting his first taste of a summer distinctly lacking in entertainment. At least, this time, he didn't have to fight against his villainous relatives this time, he supposed.

Hearing a car door slam nearby, emerald eyes lazily opened as an expression of confusion contorted his previously serene features.

"Wait…they didn't leave…" Harry muttered. "So who could possibly want to ruin their day by stopping here?"

He dreaded the thought that maybe his aunt and uncle had invited his Aunt Marge over. He desperately hoped not.

He heard the doorbell ring. Moments after hearing the it, his door opened to allow Uncle Vernon's fat, pudgy face into the room

"There's a man at the door, boy. You stay here, and don't leave until I say so." He said, looking at Harry expectantly.

"Tuh, like I would even try and leave in the first place," Harry said blandly, observing Vernon through dangerous, insolently hooded eyes.

Vernon sent a glare at Harry before he shut the door with a click.

Harry was grinning, however, as he pulled out the Extendable Ear from under his pillow. He'd set it up while the Dursley's were sleeping to catch conversations in both the foyer and just outside the front door.

"Who are you?" He heard Vernon's voice ask impolitely as soon as the door was opened.

"Mr. Dursley," said a voice, that was frighteningly familiar to Harry, "I would like to inform you that you have won the contest that you entered into a few weeks ago, and have won…a car!"

"A car?!" Harry heard Petunia cry. He heard her running footsteps retreat from the earpiece before her squeal of excitement echoed in his ears. Grimacing, he continued to listen as Vernon's heavy footsteps followed after Petunia in stunned silence. He could have sworn he heard Dudley's fat jiggle as he ran for the door, too, but upon further consideration decided it had to have been his imagination.

"Do we have to sign any forms or contracts?" He heard Vernon ask, his voice awed. "It's a Mercedes…"

"Yes, just one."

"Which is?" He heard Petunia ask cheekily.

"Oh, just your death contract. _Avada Kedavra_!"

Harry's heart went stock-still as he heard this, his face blanching and emerald gaze widening in fear. A few more yells of the curse later, there was silence outside.

"Go inside - find the boy! Nothing can protect him now!" Harry heard that voice yell. In that brief spark of familiarity he recognized it. _Lucius Malfoy._ His stomach roiling in a burning fury the likes of which he'd not felt since Sirius had fallen through the veil, Harry pulled his wand off of his bedside table and ran for the hallway, bounding down the stairs upon reaching them.

Remembering what had happened the last time he'd barged his way into a confrontation, Harry made a conscious decision not to act on his rage. His chest heaving from panic and the effort required to restrain himself, he tried to apparate. Desperation clawed at him when nothing happened and realization hit…he'd forgotten that the Order had just recently placed anti-apparation wards around the Dursley's home.

_Damn._

In his attempt to apparate, Harry had paused at the bottom of the stairs – which turned out to be the worst mistake he could've made in such a situation.

"_Expelliarmus_! _Stupefy_! "

As he fell to the ground, he heard a laugh of blissful entertainment.

"You're too naïve for your own good, Harry Potter," the voice of Voldemort whispered in a sadistic hiss. Darkness enveloped Harry's world as the curse began to run its course, and he knew no more.

* * *

Walking through the halls of the dank, dark manor of his Lord, he sneered. His crooked nose was wrinkled as he kept in his forward momentum, eyes smoldering in a deep sense of either hate or disdain; it was hard to tell.

Severus Snape was trapped in Voldemort's Manor, after being ordered to stay there by Dumbledore. He loathed being stuck in a manor that smelled so strongly of rotting wood and mold. It was worse than his dungeon at Hogwarts.

He had also been ordered by Voldemort to watch over their new captive. Severus was currently on his way to discover who, exactly, it was.

Maybe it was that ridiculous wand maker, he considered with a smirk. Or, perhaps, it could be the 'traitor' Draco Malfoy. Oh, how that boy had made his life a living hell…

Upon his arrival in the damp, cold dungeons, he halted dead in his tracks.

Laying on the cold stone floor of the cell was none other than Harry Potter. The boy looked unharmed, however. For the moment.

Severus' pale skin – the result of not getting much sun – appeared to starch. How had Voldemort gotten Harry Potter?

Questions raced through Severus' mind. Though he didn't like Harry Potter in the least, he certainly didn't want him lying dead in a ditch somewhere. Or tortured by Voldemort, for that matter. Dumbledore himself would demand his head if he allowed such an action to occur. Voldemort torturing Harry was just…out of the question.

As he wordlessly gazed upon the motionless boy, Severus gulped down his fears about the current situation. He would have to formulate a plan.

Keeping both Voldemort and Dumbledore's orders stored in the cache of his mind, he watched The-Boy-Who-Lived as he lay on the freezing stone of the cell. Severus prayed to Merlin that someway – somehow – he would be able to make everything work...

Somewhere in the back of his mind, unfortunately, he doubted it.

* * *

Something was dripping.

The first thing to click in Harry's mind was that it was wet where he was. Wait…wet?

He sat up with a groan, hearing a sharp intake of breath above him. Blinking his eyes open, he looked out through the dirty lenses of his glasses.

"Snape," he growled a moment later. The Potions Master was looking down at him with hooded eyes, his face void of emotion.

"Potter."

Harry stared up at Snape, a shiver running up and down his spine as the professor's monotonous tone registered in his mind.

"Where am I?" Harry asked.

Snape was staring at him as though studying him, sizing him up. The look of scrutiny on the blanched face showed that he was trying to decide if Harry was even worthy of receiving an answer.

"The Dark Lord's Manor," Snape replied after long moments of unreasonable consideration.

Harry's face didn't change. He'd pretty much figured that out already, and was only trying to confirm it as a fact.

"I thought you were above this." Harry's tone was cold, his gaze sharp as an ice-pick.

He pinned Snape's ebony eyes with his own, determined that their eyes stay locked in place.

"I didn't think you would be so naïve and idiotic to be captured, Potter," Snape said right back, his voice deathly calm and droning, as before.

Though, somewhere deep in Snape's tone, Harry could sense fear. Or was it pain? It could even be indecision. Harry wouldn't be able to tell without further contemplation on the matter.

"What does Voldemort want with me?" Harry inquired, arcing an eyebrow up at him.

Snape sneered, which caused Harry to snort.

"Give up the bloody act around me," Harry snarled, and was satisfied to see a look of alarm come onto Snape's face. Snape's emotionless mask was soon replaced, and Harry continued to look up at him with a calculating stare.

"You are obviously attempting to exercise your own poor and sorely lacking definition of cunning. Why?" Snape asked the younger male a few moments later.

Harry smirked. "I just wanted to find something out."

"Well…?" Snape asked with a glare after Harry hadn't said anything else.

"I already figured it out." Harry shot back at him with a pointed look, and Snape continued in his glare. "Where's my wand?"

The sneer returned to Snape's lips. "The Dark Lord has it in his possession at the current moment."

Harry kept his calm, collected look as he gazed up at Snape. Inside, however, he was screaming.

"No he doesn't," Harry said. He could clearly see Snape swallow. "You have it."

Snape looked intently at Harry, as if to try and figure out how this boy was working all of this information out. Harry's eyes were boring deep into his charcoal gaze, and his eyes were still trapped by the emerald orbs.

"What are you doing here?" Harry asked as he looked up at Snape, who seemed to be trying to ignore him now. Why hadn't Snape tried to look into his mind by now? Harry knew that Snape would fail in any attempt to see into his mind – as he had been practicing in his mind barriers to make them stronger – but why hadn't he tried yet? It was as if he didn't want to harm him at all by dredging up painful memories, or harm him through legilimens...

"I've been ordered to watch over you, Potter. Make sure you don't get too…out of hand," Snape replied as his sneer seemed to become darker to Harry's eyes.

"No, that wasn't what I meant," Harry said, and a look of confusion slipped past Snape's tight guard. "What are you doing here?"

Leaving Snape to sort out his thoughts and realize just what his real answer was, Harry stood. Crossing to the far corner of the cell from Snape, he sat back down and curled up. All the while, his eyes never left Snape's confused, muddled face.

* * *

Sitting on his throne, in all his glory, Voldemort looked around at the minions that surrounded him.

They had just arrived, at his call. They were there to serve him, but today, they were merely onlookers. Nothing more, nothing less.

"I have captured Harry Potter."

A round of whispering, and laughter, resounded throughout the dank room. They were soon silence, however, when Voldemort lifted a hand.

"I have called you here today, not to have a meeting…but to watch as I torture the boy who has made my life a living hell," Voldemort told them all with a smirk. Oh, how he couldn't wait for them to bring the boy in. The image of Potter being dragged into his throne room was something he would have to store away and return to in a Pensieve, just to see how pathetic the boy looked. That was something he would treasure all this life.

"Bring him in," he said, and the door was opened with a loud, ear-splitting creak. He smirked, and began to laugh as Snape walked in first, with an unconscious Potter being dragged in behind him using a spell.

Snape moved to go to his place, but Voldemort held a hand up. Snape turned to look at him, his face expressionless.

"Severus, please," he said with a smirk, "come. You have done such a wonderful job in helping to plan this event. Take this seat." He pointed his wand at the velvet footstool that was beside his throne, and transfigured it into another throne. It was smaller than his, but it was a throne nonetheless.

Snape gave a deep bow. "It would an honor, my lord," he said. Taking his seat, Snape watched with emotionless eyes as Voldemort pointed his wand at Potter.

"_Ennervate_."

Potter awoke with a gasp, and turned to look around at them all as he stood, before his eyes settled on Voldemort. He swallowed, his lips set together in a tight line.

"Good evening, Mr. Potter," Voldemort said, his tone cold.

Over in a corner, water dripped in the tense, dead silence around them. The sound echoed off the walls and ceiling, seeming to highlight the complete lack of motion in the chamber.

"Come now, Potter. Is that really the way you should be looking at the man that saved you from your 'muggle hell?' I think not," Voldemort smirked, lifting his wand as a sadistic, evil cajoled emerged finally on his snake-like lips. "You'll have to be punished for that. _Crucio_!"

Potter clenched his teeth, his face twisting in a mixture of pain and strength. Sweat trickled down the side of his cheek, but he did nothing other than that.

Voldemort glared menacingly at Potter as he lifted the curse, angered that he hadn't gotten a stronger response out of him. "Don't you feel pain? You must, I know," Voldemort said. "_Crucio_!"

Potter began to shake this time, an eyebrow twitching.

"Scream, Potter! I know you want to," Voldemort snarled, pouring more energy into the curse. As he did so, he finally received what he so desired.

Harry let out a cry of pain, falling to his knees.

Voldemort was delighted that he had gotten a reaction out of the boy. He still hadn't said anything, but it was a start. A cry if pain meant that more would come, and in order to lure out those cries…all he had to do was shoot curse after curse at the boy.

"There we go," Voldemort said as he lifted the curse. "It's not so bad, is it? _Crucio_!"

Potter finally seemed to crack as the intensity of the third curse hit him, and he screamed, falling to the ground completely. The other Death Eaters watched on in silence, knowing they weren't allowed to do anything unless they wanted to be on the floor with Potter.

The only sounds in the throne room were that of Potter's screams and Voldemort's laughs of blissful, cruel entertainment.

* * *

**Well, that's it, for this chapter. Please tell me what you think! Thank you!**

**...And NO, this is not a slash fanfiction.**

**Please review! Thank you!**


	2. Chapter 2

**_The Snake's Den_**

**Chapter 2**

Harry lay on the floor, writhing in pain. His entrails felt as though they were going to implode, twisting and knotting in flips he didn't think imaginable. He was clawing at his stomach repeatedly in an effort to alleviate the pain, turning over repeatedly in an attempt to get away from his torturer.

When the curse was finally lifted, he sobbed in relief. Clutching at the cold stone floor, he realized he was on his back, and was facing up. His breath short, he tried to turn over - only to whimper in pain when his body denied him movement through a seizing of muscles.

"There, there," he heard Voldemort say, his voice a mocking coo, "no need to be upset. It'll go away eventually…if I allow it. _Sectumsempra_!"

Harry screamed as deep gashes ripped open across the canvas that was his chest, the edges of each cut having the jagged ridges that are present whenever something is torn.

Hearing the bout of insane laughter his cry of pain had elicited from Voldemort's mouth, he defiantly bit down on his lower lip prevent anything else from escaping. His chest throbbed, and he could feel blood running down the sides of his ribcage.

"_Petrificus Totalus_!" Harry heard.

Voldemort appeared in his blurry vision, gazing down at him with pure pleasure dancing in his slivered eyes. Leaning over, Voldemort raised one long-nailed finger in front of Harry's face and whispered, "I've waited so long to hear your delectable sounds of pain. Have no doubts that I will string this out as long as possible, my dear little torture toy." He then slowly took that one finger and dragged it over the edge of one cut, before bending it into a hook form. With a feral gleam of anticipation in his red eyes, Voldemort dug savagely into the cut with his homemade hook.

All thoughts of defiance flew from Harry's thoughts as a haze of searing pain flooded his mind and his chest at the vicious tearing of tissue. Unable to truly scream through his frozen, shut mouth somehow made it hurt all the more, and black spots began invading his vision.

Voldemort cackled before peering into Harry's eyes and smirking at the incredible pain he could see communicated there.

"_Finite Incantatem_. Take him to his cell," Voldemort's voice said. "Let's give him…a bit of time to think, shall we?"

He heard footsteps, and then a hissed spell in Snape's voice.

The footsteps walked to the doorway, and Harry wondered vaguely just how Snape was planning on bringing him back to his cell.

Suddenly, his feet felt as though they were being pulled and he was sliding along the floor.

He groaned in pain as he was dragged out of the throne room, with Voldemort's amused chortle ringing in his ears.

Harry's imprisonment went on as such for three and a half weeks – to Harry, however, it all seemed to run together.

Harry lost count of days and nights in his continuous cycle of pain. His watch batteries died, and he was left without knowledge of time.

He was stunned often, probably to give Snape a chance to eat and rest. Every time he came around, however, Snape was standing guard once again.

It was much like it was now. He had been stunned a while before, and was now leaning against the cell bars in pained silence, his muscles aching. Dried blood was caked onto his hair and clothes, and the now black looking liquid was dried right under his nose. It was also right below his ears, the blood having oozed out during his latest session. He'd been given the bare minimum of food, if one could even call it that. It looked more like mud than anything to Harry.

"_Finite Incantatem_."

With those words, Harry awoke with a small jolt as his consciousness flooded back into his body.

The door to his cell opened and an emerald eye meekly opened.

Sweeping black robes, greasy hair, quick steps…Snape. Of course, he hardly expected anyone else since Snape seemed to be his main, and only, caretaker.

Harry heard the swish of a wand and he flinched, though no pain came to him. If anything, his cold body – which had been losing temperature in his freezing place of confinement – began to warm.

The teen opened his other eye to see Snape staring down at him, his wand hand moving down. In his other hand, he held a small tray.

"...wha...what're...you doin'?" the younger man asked as Snape knelt beside him. His voice was raw and pained, his parched throat making him sound groggy and weak.

Through his pain he smelled fresh, warm bread, and milk.

"Eat," Snape said, his tone emotionless and stiff. His eyes, however, seemed slightly softer. More gentle than Harry had ever seen, anyway.

Harry stared at him. Why was Snape doing this? Reaching a stiffened, sore hand up, he took the bread that Snape was offering him. He began to eat it without question after that. Taking a bite, he disregarded Snape's queer behavior in favor of focusing on the most delicious food he'd had in weeks.

When Harry finished, he closed his eyes. The feeling of real food in his stomach gave him a rush of strength that Harry hoped to hold in reserve.

A glass was placed in Harry's hand and the boy looked up to see Snape looking at him.

"Drink."

Harry stared at the cold glass in his hands, and quickly complied with the command without complaint. He gulped the milk down, his thirst quenched by the liquid.

When he was done the glass was taken out of his unsteady hand once more.

"…what're you…doin' this…for?" Harry inquired.

Snape didn't respond.

Harry watched as Snape dipped a cloth into a small bowl of water. He reached over and began to dab at the blood on Harry's face, and below his ears.

The cool cloth felt heavenly, but after almost a month of this hell, anything would feel the same way.

Snape began to wipe blood out of his hair, and then moved down to wipe it from around the many infected looking gashes along his chest and torso.

The Potions Master took it away and placed the cloth back into the bowl before dabbing it all around Harry's face. He stopped as he heard the boy gasp, continuing as he soon realized that it was just the shock of the change in temperature – not of pain.

When he was finished, he put everything back on the tray and stood.

"Thank you," Harry whispered. His voice was still raw, despite the fact that he'd finally had something to drink.

Snape didn't reply and crossed over to the door of the cell. Stopping there, he looked down his crooked nose at Harry.

Though Snape's face was completely bland, except for a sneer that seemed to be hovering around the edges, Harry noticed something was off about Snape's eyes. An indefinable emotion seemed to be flickering through the contempt he was infusing his eyes with. Either Snape himself refused to define it, or Harry did. Whichever way, it was out of denial.

Harry was soon distracted from the puzzle, however, by the words that emerged from Snape's mouth.

"Happy birthday, Potter," Snape stated abruptly. Letting the sneer take over, probably in an effort to save face, Snape executed an about face and strode through the cell entrance. Harry stared after him, completely flabbergasted.

* * *

Severus stood watch outside Potter's cell, giving a mental sigh. It had now been a month and a week since the teenager had been brought into their midst.

He had been present at each one of Potter's torture session, each of which seemed to get more and more painful as they went.

After the first night of Crucio's, it had just seemed to escalate in level's of pain for Potter.

It started with the pulling of his toenails. Potter hadn't cried out, hadn't made a single move during the whole ordeal. The only indication of his pain was that his clenched fists were shaking, and that sweat was dribbling down his paled out cheeks. Blood was oozing out of the now ripped toes, and was dripping all over his feet, but Potter hadn't made a single move to stop it. It must have been it would have been a sign of weakness.

Then came the pokers from hell, as he had heard Potter grumble after the session, once his stunning spell had been released afterwards. Lucius would heat long spears of metal in the fire, and while Harry was bound and held tightly by Severus himself, Lucius would stab and poke at the boy through his shirt.

Voldemort stood during this particular torture and came over, a brutal expression on his face. He took the spear from Lucius, heated it in the fire, and then turned to Potter.

Voldemort had lifted Potter's shirt and drew the Dark Mark in a larger example on his stomach, all the while the boy screaming in agony.

Two days ago, they had begun to give him a new type of torture – skinning. The Death Eaters would come up, one by one, and dig their nails into his skin. He would scream and writhe under their touch, but it did no good to his situation. They took hold of the skin they had wedged between their own nails, and during a moment of their delight, they were allowed to pull the skin away in patches and, if one was lucky, a strip.

Severus couldn't help but feel a small twinge in his personality as he watched this brutal treatment. He didn't know what it was, but the more torture they put the boy through, the stronger this twinge had become. That was why he would come in with bread and milk for the boy, and sometimes clean the more serious of his wounds for him. He didn't know what this feeling was, but it was beginning to eat at him the longer Potter sat in his dank cell.

Just this morning, Bellatrix had gotten ahold of a whip. As soon as Severus had pulled the boy in, he watched as Bellatrix brought him back to consciousness. With no hesitation, she began to whip him, peeling strips of skin off with it. Her voice cackled in joy as she listened to his cries and yelps of excruciation. She knew that from where he was, he was harmless, and would not be able to get away.

Severus glanced up then – torn from his thoughts of the recent torture they boy had experienced – as he heard a keening sound, and turned to see that Potter had jerked awake, and was now painfully inspecting his latest gashes, which he had received during a brutal whipping by Bellatrix.

Severus had stood by and watched, unable to do anything. He had wished silently and to himself that Bellatrix would just stop, after hearing the numerous begs and pleads for her to stop, the unfaltering whimpers and sobs that had escaped the young teen's mouth.

"Have you…considered…my question yet?" the younger man asked, and Severus moved over to the steel bars of the cell, staring down at the corner that he was huddled in.

"And what ludicrous inquiry would that be, Potter?" the Potion's Master asked with a sneer.

"Why…you're here…"

Severus stared down at the boy, his stony sneer still in place. He would not slip again; not now that he knew the boy's tricks.

"I do not have time to contemplate such ridiculous, petty things," Severus told him.

Potter looked up at him, his emerald eyes much darker than they had been since he'd arrived. The color was muted and dead, and the only look of life in them was that the orbs kept flicking here and there at noises in the dungeons.

"You have…plenty…of time," Potter shot back at him. Severus gazed at Potter, giving a mental sigh. He was always out of breath as of late from his increasing lack of energy. The massive amount of blood he'd lost wasn't helping with his situation any. "You've got…nothing better…to do…sitting here with…me all day…"

Severus hesitated to think, sending a look of disdain Potter's way.

"You have to move fast, Potter," Severus said a moment later, and the younger man looked up at him with confused eyes. "You have to think quickly. Keep your wits about you in this dungeon of hell, and you might just survive."

"What're you talking…about, Snape?" Potter asked, though before Severus could answer or continue, there were footsteps down the hall.

Potter quieted, and Severus looked up to see the younger Malfoy coming down the hall towards him.

"The Dark Lord requires your presence," Malfoy said coolly.

"I am to guard his cell," Severus said, raising an eyebrow at the Slytherin.

"I am to guard it while you are gone," Malfoy said, his voice scarily calm. "Now go."

Severus watched as Malfoy looked down Potter in the cell, a stony, composed expression on his face.

"Go, you bloody berk, or he will punish you."

Severus glared at Malfoy, enraged at the tone he was using to address him.

"You should know your place, Malfoy. I was the one, of course, to kill the muggle-loving fool when you couldn't even lift your wand."

With that, he turned on his heel with a scowl, and began to stalk his way up to the throne room, seething unseen.

* * *

Harry watched as Snape walked down the hallway, his cloak billowing behind him. He disappeared through a doorway and the sounds of his footsteps soon vanished from Harry's ears.

At first, he only stared blankly ahead, at a wall he had gotten to look at all too often. The walls, floor, and ceiling of his cell were made of cobbled stone, but moss was growing through holes in the concrete holding it together. The moss also grew in the darkest corners, farthest from the straight wall of rusty cell bars. Water dripped continuously, day and night, as though the ceiling was a faucet that was never turned all the way off.

The floor was always damp, and the area around him smelled musty and dark. Outside in the hallway, the cobblestones were cleaned and didn't have moss on them in the least. There were lamps hanging all the way along the passageway, which gave Harry's caretakers plenty of light while he had none.

Harry finally looked up at Malfoy, who was staring at him.

"Potter."

"Malfoy."

Harry stared back.

Malfoy's slate grey eyes were gazing at Harry, taking in the teen's now thin, weak build, the wounds from his obvious torture spread across his torso and limbs.

His shirt – what was left of it, anyway – wasn't grey any longer, but a sickly cake of brown dried blood. His jeans had been torn and ripped, and were now a pair of high cut shorts, stopping about mid thigh with strips and frayed edges hanging off the ends.

His hair was matted and tangled, as usual, but he now had blood lingering ominously in the black strands. It dripped onto his face and skin every time his hair became even the slightest bit sweaty, which dissolved the flakes of dried blood.

Harry's glasses were basically useless; they were so dirty, scratched and covered in blood. If he'd had his wand on him, a simple spell would help him repair his glasses, but alas…he didn't have his wand.

Harry's emerald gaze followed Malfoy as he walked over to the cell doors and opened them, coming inside. Malfoy must not perceive him as a threat at the moment…hell, no one would.

"What…do you want?" Harry asked. Malfoy smirked at him as he knelt in front of Harry. Soon, however, the smirk faded and a serious look spread across the young Malfoy's face. A look that had never graced Malfoy's features when the two of them had been in school. All Harry had ever seen was his patented smirk, looks of rage, and once he had seen the look of insecurity on the only son of Lucius' face, when Harry had found Malfoy crying in the bathroom with Myrtle.

"I hate you," Malfoy started.

"That much…is certain," Harry said, but that only earned him a hard backhand to the side of his face. A small cut he had received during a skinning session stung with a sharp pain, his starched cheek throbbing and beginning to turn a pale pink instead of red. His head had been thrown to the side, and for a moment, Harry's head was swimming in darkness.

Malfoy's sharp voice was close to the sound of a crack of a whip – the sound of which Harry had had the absolute pleasure of hearing first hand – and it snapped him out of his pained daze.

"Do you want to hear what I have to say, or not, Potter? Because I can just as easily Crucio you myself now," Malfoy hissed, whipping his wand out of a wrist harness that had been previously hidden. With no hesitation, he pointed the tip of his wand at Harry's chest.

Harry could feel the tip of the wand pressed over the jagged edge of one of his newly opened wounds. The strappado they had held him in earlier had left him sore and jerky, his wrists raw from the stiff rope that had been tightened, and tightened again, by none other than Lucius Malfoy.

Lucius had used heated strips of steel, and pressed them on the back of Harry's knees, on the backside of his neck, on his scar. Then, he heated them again and slapped them into a round bracelet on his arms, his chest, and his ankles.

He'd screamed, and to his revulsion, had actually been begging for his torturer to stop. Voldemort had finally given the order, and Harry was released from the strappado, only to fall to the ground without movement, sobs of both pain and relief wracking his weakened body.

Harry couldn't get his body to cooperate the way he wished it to now, and he hadn't even had the strength to move from the corner of the cell he had been unceremoniously tossed in to.

And now, here he was, stuck in the same room with Lucius' son, unable to move away.

Harry's eyes went slowly from Malfoy's wand, to his face, and back, before he finally nodded.

"I'm listening…"

"I hate you," Malfoy repeated, "but I hate the Dark Lord more."

Harry gazed at him, his eyes confused yet speculating. What was Malfoy up to this time?

"I don't know when, exactly, but I can help you escape."

Harry's gaze widened as he sat there, taking all of this in. If they could have, his eyes would be bugging out of his skull right then.

"What…?" Harry breathed.

"I hate Voldemort more than you, and consequently, I can help you get out."

"This isn't…for my benefit…"

"No," Malfoy answered flatly. "I'm going to use you to get under his skin, and you escaping is just the thing to do it. However, I will only help you escape on one condition."

Feeling as though his already aching head was going to explode from this information, Harry nodded to silently tell him to continue.

"I get you out – in exchange, you take my mother with you and provide her with sanctuary."

Harry stared. So that was it. It wasn't that Malfoy had finally gone soft – that was about the equivalent of a snowball's chance in hell – or that he didn't hate him…he just wanted a way to ensure his mother's safety. So he did have the capacity for love, Harry finally decided.

"Think about it," Malfoy said, standing. "But if you refuse, I will make sure that the remainder of your life here is more of a living hell than it already is."

With that, Malfoy stood and strode out of the cell in silence.

He locked the door behind him, leaving a perplexed Harry in his wake.

Draco sighed as he stood erect outside of Potter's cell. He was watching Potter with his slate gray eyes, not knowing what exactly he was going to do. His hands were shaking from the threat he'd given to Potter…

He didn't even have it in him to bring the words to his lips again. He tried. He couldn't even form the word 'Crucio' now…

His lips said the word, but his voice wouldn't make the sound.

Draco's eyes scanned the surrounding. He didn't know how Snape had survived in such a horrid place. Every time he turned around, he half expected to hear the sounds of rattling breathing, and see the dark hooded form of a dementor. It was so dark and depressing down in the dungeons of Voldemort's manor that the place should be writhing with the dismal presence of the creatures.

His eyes trailed down to Potter then as he shifted, watching as the weak young man bit his lip to hold in a sound of unmistakable pain.

Before Potter began speaking, he let out a wheezy cough, showing that he was actually worse off than he looked.

"You couldn't…torture me, Malfoy," Potter muttered.

"You don't know me," Draco spat back immediately, almost instinctively, without thinking about it.

"If you could…you woulda…done it already…"

Draco glared. It was as though Potter could read his mind, his feelings. It was absurd that this man, who was supposed to be a prisoner, was making Draco feel like he was the one supposed to be behind bars.

"You don't want…to be here…any more than…I do…"

"What's your answer?" Draco inquired, deciding to ignore what Potter had just said to him. "What do you say about getting my mother out of here?"

"I'll do it…but…I'm bringing you…with me, too…"

Draco stared down at Potter. He could tell that Potter was too weak to string together a whole sentence without stopping to take breaths. But then it struck him, the full force of Potter's words, and his mouth gaped out.

"Wh-what?" he breathed, his slate gray orbs staring down at the immobile figure of Potter.

"If I go…with your mother…then I'm taking…you with me…it's as simple…as that, Malfoy…"

Draco swallowed. For the first time since this stupid, ridiculous plan of getting Potter out to save his mother had entered his mind, his mind began to reel with panic. It was as though a projection reel was spinning through his mind, showing him all possible ways it could go wrong, all ways it could be right, how it could work out, everything –

Draco forced his mind to slow in its panicked thoughts, closing his eyes for a moment.

"Malfoy?"

Draco didn't respond to Potter's inquiry. Not yet. He needed to pull himself together in his frantic line of thought so that nothing would slip. Potter was right, he didn't want to be here…

"Draco?"

It was only then that Draco looked down at Potter once more. Potter was looking up at him with his now glittering emerald eyes. They had more life in them now than they had before…because Potter had something to live for now, he reckoned.

"You couldn't…hurt a fly, Draco…"

Draco, surprisingly, didn't mind the fact that Potter was calling him by first name. Maybe the fact that they both agreed to save each others lives just then did the trick, but he wasn't completely sure.

"Your father made you…join Voldemort…didn't he?"

Potter was still looking at him with those sharp emerald eyes, which now closely resembled ice picks. It was hard to believe that just a few minutes ago they couldn't even be compared to a dull, lifeless rock.

"Yes," Draco answered.

"When were you branded?"

"At the end of our fifth year. I was forced into it. That was when I was ordered to kill Dumbledore," Draco replied. "I spent the year in the Room of Requirement making a way for Death Eaters to enter Hogwarts…Dumbledore had me pinned, that night…he read my mind, and you have as well. I'm not a killer. I didn't kill him."

"I know…I watched…I was under my…invisibility cloak…"

"Snape killed him, I didn't –"

"Draco, I know…I'm not…pinning this on you…I don't want to…"

Draco stopped, his gaze calming as he looked down to Potter. He had worked himself up, and realized just how much he didn't want to be doing this.

"Do you really…want out of here?"

Draco nodded. "More than anything now," he said. He spoke quietly, as though he were afraid the imaginary dementors around him would sense his fear and come forward to devour his frightened soul.

"All right," Potter said with a meek nod, "then we can…get you out…of here."

Once again, Draco's head bobbed quietly in a nod. He could work with this.

"Ron is going to kill me," Potter managed in a whole sentence with a smile, and he gave off a weak chuckle. For some reason, Draco found himself smiling.

This could be a good thing…he hoped.

**Well, there you go! I hope you liked it.**

**Please leave a review and tell me what you think! Thank you!**


	3. Chapter 3

_**Warning:** I would like to warn that later on in the chapter there is a rather gory, descriptive torture scene. **Readers, please, be warned.**_

_**FOR THOSE WHO DO NOT WISH TO READ THE SCENE**, I will make a notation in the writing that looks like this:_ **sSXxXxXxXSs**_ at the beginning, and at the end, of the torture scene so that you can skip over it if you wish. Thank you!_

**_The Snake's Den_**

**Chapter 3**

Back at Grimmuald place, the order had just adjourned another meeting. The tension in the house was thick enough to taste it. With Harry gone, emotions were riding everyone hard. No one more so, however, than Ron and Hermione. Losing Harry had been like loosing a piece of themselves. They couldn't joke, they couldn't laugh, they couldn't smile; all without feeling guilty. Mrs. Weasley tried her hardest t cheer them up but it was clear that without Harry, the two felt empty.

"He's our best friend! We know more about him than anyone!" Ron complained, "Why can't we help get him back?"

"Ginny shook her head wearily. "There's nothing we _can_ do even if they let us help. What is your plan, Ronald? Just charge into you-know-who's castle and take Harry back? It won't work!"

"Don't you want him back, Gin?" Ron snarled, eyes glinting.

"I want him back just as much as you do, Ron. Do _not_ assume otherwise!" She glared at him and stood, walking to the kitchen to help make dinner.

"What's wrong, Gin," Mrs. Weasley asked consolingly, flicking her wand toward a knife and a pile of carrots. Instantly, the knife went to work, peeling and cutting the carrots.

Ginny sighed. How could she explain to her mom that she missed Harry but found it almost… Peaceful without him around. When he was there Harry, Ron and Hermione went off into their own world. Without Harry, she was part of the group, not just 'Ron's little sister.'

Tears burned he eyes and stopped that train of thought. When Harry had been around, he had done everything he could to include her.

"I just miss, Harry," she finally said. She sighed and sat at the table. "The order _is_ doing all they can to get him back, right?"

Mrs. Weasley smiled sadly at her daughter. "Of course they are, dear. It's all that they're working on. But Ginny, dear…" She paused, sitting down. She looked at Ginny and sighed, shaking her head. "Ginny, we can't do anything until we come into contact with Severus." She shook her head again and stood up, holding out her hand. "Come on, Ginny, help me get supper ready."

Ginny nodded, wiping tears out of her eyes. She may not understand why Snape had turned, but she knew he was a vital part in the war against You-Know-Who. Without spies like him, the war would be a thousand times harder to win.

* * *

"Ronald Weasley!" Hermione hissed as Ginny left. "You _know_ she misses him! He's become another brother to her! And with _you_ as her main protector, I'm surprised she doesn't miss him more! You insensitive prick!" She screeched she last few words, breathing heavily.

Ron bowed his head. Since Harry had been taken from privet drive, his temper had gotten harder to take care of. If anyone said anything that could be taken the wrong way, he blew up.

"'Mione, I'm sorry. I really am. Ginny just sounds like she doesn't want him back. She sounds so… Uncaring." He shrugged, tears glistening in his eyes. "What if he doesn't come back, Hermione?" He asked brokenly. "He's my best friend. He could be half dead by now and we wouldn't even know."

"He'll be fine, Ron," Hermione said. "He has to be or there will be hell to pay." Her eyes her hard, shining with determination. Ron looked surprised at hearing her curse and hugged her, tears running down both their faces.

* * *

It was cold. It was wet. It was cold and it was wet. What 'it' was, Harry couldn't be too sure. His eyes were swollen shut from his last visit with the Death Eaters.

_What's a few more broken bones,i Harry scoffed as if it was nothing. iI'll just have more to add to the collection._

The something cold and wet suddenly turned painful and Harry blissfully sank back to unconsciousness.

_"Have you… made contact… with the order yet?" Harry asked softly. He shifted slightly and held back a murmur of pain as what felt like a broken rib jabbed him in, he could only guess, the lung._

_"Stop moving, Potter. You'll make it worse. And, no, I haven't been able to get out of this bloody manor since my arrival. Voldemort thinks it imperative that I guard you, 'lulling you into a sense of false security'." He said the last bit as though quoting someone and Harry grimaced. "If nothing else, Draco and I will have to get you out ourselves." He turned away, giving Harry his back, signalling the end of the conversation._

_Harry sighed again and went back to trying to breathe. Broken bones, bruised muscles, dislocated joints and torn skin didn't make for happy breathing. He closed his eyes and started to work through the pain._

_He had almost succeeded when he heard a shrill cry of, "Party time, Potter!"_

**sSXxXxXxXSs**

_He opened his eyes and came face to face with Bellatrix Lestrange. She sneered at him and lifted him up by one arm. He held back a yell, turning it into an unintelligible murmur and forced his feet into motion. The fractured bones and joints protested loudly at the movement but Bellatrix's hand on his arm forced him to keep moving._

_Just steps after he left his cell, Harry's legs gave out. He dropped his head in exhaustion, biting the inside of his cheek to keep from screaming as Bellatrix continued to drag him._

_He must have passed out because next thing he knew, he was thrown to the ground in a circle of death eaters. He lifted his head and looked around. To his immediate right stood a metal table. It was tilted at an almost 90 degree angle, looking menacing all on its own. There were straps for his arms and for his legs and one across the top that he assumed was for his head. He took a deep breath and forced himself to look away._

_It proved to be a mistake. A short distance from the table was a weapon rack. Standing in their own 'homes' so to speak were an assortment of torture implements. A leather whip, about two feet long with silver barbs from four inches to the end, stood at the front of the line, begging to be used. Beside it, iron rods and simple leather strips. Last in line stood another whip, this one a tightly woven braid of fabric, large wooden beads lining the last foot._

_"Ready to play, Potter?" Voldemort asked striding into the room._

_Harry glared from his place on the floor and managed to croak out, "Kiss my arse, you bastard."_

_Voldemort seemed to glide over, kneeling down next to Harry and grabbing his chin in a vice-like grip. "I see you've retained that foolish Gryffindor spirit of yours - perfect," he observed, eyes glittering malevolently, and despite himself Harry felt a tremor of fear travel down his spine._

_Harry said nothing, holding himself as rigid as possible and practically oozing defiance. Voldemort scrutinized Harry's face for a moment more, searching for the fear he knew the boy must feel, before smirking slightly and standing._

_"We'll see how long that fire wills out, Potter…how long will it take to break you, I wonder? I'm curious, and the goal this night is to satisfy that curiosity. Snape!"_

_Harry turned his head to the Death Eater that emerged from the crowd and dropped to a kneeling position before the Snake-faced git._

_"What is it you desire from this lowly vassal, my lord?" asked the figure._

_"Heal him as far as your abilities allow. I would be most displeased were he to expire prematurely."_

_"Yes, my lord."_

_Harry watched with disgust as Snape leaned over to kiss the hem of Voldemort's robes, before rising and making his way over to Harry's side. Taking off his mask, Harry saw that Snape had one of his 'Looks' pasted on his face (the Potter-is-an-imbecile-and-a-complete-waste-of-space sneer of disdain that Harry was subjected to every Potions class) as he took several moments to obtain a complete inventory of Harry's injuries. Of course, Snape knew exactly what Harry's injuries were, but he wasn't supposed to care that much - he just had the simple instructions of keeping Harry alive._

_Not that Snape cared anyways, Harry amended hastily. He was just saving the wizarding world's only hope. He shoved such nonsensical thoughts away to focus on the dire circumstances he now found himself in. Now was most certainly not the time to contemplate Snape's somewhat odd behavior these past few weeks, or his own jumbled feelings that were beginning to emerge for the man. Harry had the foreboding feeling that the worst night of his life was about to begin, and he had bigger fish to fry._

_Actually, maybe it would be better to dwell on something else._

_"Potter! Pay attention, you gibbering idiot!"_

_Jerked out of his thoughts, Harry thought for a moment that he was in Potions. Seeing the warning - and possibly concern? Was that concern there or was Harry delusional? - in Snape's eyes, however, and feeling the residual aches and pains from previous sessions as yet uncured, brought him back to reality real fast._

_He never thought that he'd ever be wishing so fervently that he was in Potions._

_Grabbing the vial of goop Snape was holding out to him, Harry tipped his head back and downed it, gagging a moment later on the vile taste. Snape sneered at him again as various mean-spirited chuckles throughout the room were heard – all except from Bellatrix, who was in mid-evil-cackle-mode. Feeling a surge of hatred, knowing it was highly likely to be the only chance he had at any sort of retaliation no matter how small, Harry narrowed his eyes and threw the vial as hard as he could at her face. With her head thrown back as it was, she had no idea it was coming, and several gasps were heard as it shattered. Harry didn't even have the time to form a gloating smirk before he found himself under Cruciatus, convulsing violently, the cords standing out in his neck as he screamed._

_It was over just as quickly as it had started, and gasping for breath Harry looked over to see Bellatrix herself on the ground, drops of blood running down her face as she herself screamed. Harry's eyes were drawn to Voldemort, sitting on his thrown, expecting to see his wand trained on Bellatrix – but it wasn't. Voldemort was just sitting there, nonchalantly taking in the scene before him. Confused for a moment, Harry followed Voldemort's gaze to Snape, and was vaguely shocked to see it was him holding Cruciatus on Bellatrix._

_"Snape, cease," came Voldemort's hiss after a few moments._

_"Of course, my lord." Snape's voice was tight, and Harry thought he heard a hint of anger somewhere in its depths._

_"Would you care to explain to me why you took it upon yourself to attack and stop her rightful retribution on the boy?"_

_Snape dropped to his knees immediately, bowing his head. "She was hindering my efforts at healing him, my lord. I can only do so much, and he will not last as long as you wish if I am not allowed to fully heal him before anymore activities take place. She will be able to pay him back later once he is healed, and she was interfering with my attempt to please you, my lord."_

_Voldemort studied Snape for a moment, considering his answer. "Understandable. However, only I hold the power to punish here, and you forget your place."_

_Harry squeezed his eyes shut, doing his best to block out the sound of Snape's screams. He kept them shut once the screams stopped, which felt like hours later. He could hear Snape breathing harshly as he returned to Harry's side and finished healing him, passing him more potions as he incanted a few different spells Harry had never heard of._

_Several minutes later, Snape said, "My lord, I've done all I can. His bones are nearly fully fused back together and his bruises healed."_

_Opening his eyes, Harry looked up into Snape's as the man got up to head back to his place. Yes, he was almost positive now – Snape was concerned. Harry could only wonder what the professor knew that was making even him worry, and shivered._

_"Excellent, Severus, as always. Come stand next to me, my loyal Potions Master – I know you do not care for participating, but I am also well aware of how much you hate the boy. Surely a perfect view is agreeable to you." It was obviously not a question._

_Snape hesitated slightly before Harry heard him say in a completely emotionless voice, "I would be honored, my lord."_

_As Snape made his way to The Bastard, Harry took stock of his options. He was completely surrounded by at least a hundred Death Eaters – though, being in the center and on the ground, he had no real count – no wand, no weapon of any kind, and yet nearly completely healed._

_His options? Zip, nada. He was completely and totally screwed._

_And then there were hands on his arms, dragging him up to strap him down on the table he saw earlier, and he was clawing, scratching, yelling swear words over the chanting he could hear, struggling, struggling against his captors, he had to get away, he had to escape the horrible fate awaiting him –_

_- and then his head was being forced straight, and he could feel the straps tightening on his wrists, ankles, and head, and he tried to bit someone's hand in front of his face, yelling his frustration –_

_- then Bellatrix was there, cackling again, and Harry glared with all of his hate for her in his eyes as all the other Death Eaters fell silent and moved back to form the circle they were in before._

_"Awe, look, wittle Hawy is at my mercy," she spouted in that repulsive baby talk of hers, and Harry ground his teeth together._

_"Shut up, you blood bitch."_

_Bellatrix shook her finger at him and leered. "No-no, Hawy, not a good idea to pwovoke your torturer…"_

_And that was how it began._

_Bellatrix was the only one allowed to inflict his 'punishment', though there were apparently a few things coming Voldemort had alluded to wanting to do himself._

_The very first thing Bellatrix had done was cut off all of his clothing with a severing charm, leaving Harry to blush profusely and growl in anger at the 'admiration' from the watching Death Eaters. He soon forgot his public humiliation, however, when he saw the four inch long needle Bellatrix brought over to hover in front of his eyes._

_She let loose what could only be a snicker as the blood drained from Harry's face and he forgot to breathe._

_He remembered quite well when it came time to yell out his pain as the needle was viciously stabbed into his left ear. His eardrum had been ruptured at the very least, though Harry suspected there was more damage than that with how hard and how far Bellatrix had shoved the needle. His whimpers of pain continued as hot, sticky blood began to run from his ear to the table beneath his head. He was dismayed – though not surprised – to find that he could only hear the Death Eater's excitement at first blood with his right ear._

_Bellatrix had stepped back to admire her work, and when Harry opened the eyes he'd squeezed shut, it was to the sight of her running her tongue along the needle…licking up the blood dripping from it with a maniacal gleam in her eyes._

_Harry had thought he was going to be sick._

_And now he was waiting for the next step in Bellatrix's plans for him. His ear was throbbing painfully, though he was doing his best to ignore it. If he didn't miss his guess, this was the least of the pain he'd be feeling before the night was through._

_As though she had read his thoughts, Bellatrix leaned over to whisper in his undamaged ear, "Don't fret, wittle Hawy…we have much to entertain you with." She dragged a finger up his chest as she spoke, and Harry's skin crawled._

_Harry's memories of the next step of Plan Torture were scattered, and not always completely lucid. He soon discovered what Bellatrix had been doing with the set of needles the one that popped his eardrum belonged to – she had used some sort of heat-stasis charm usually used for boiling water on them, making them red-hot. They literally glowed red, as though they'd been lying in the embers of a roaring fire for several hours._

_Harry was in the perfect position to judge just how scorching those needles were within moments after the needles were ready. He watched hopelessly as Bellatrix, a feral anticipation in her eyes, brought the first needle down past his sight range. He noted that she seemed unharmed by the considerable high temperature of the needle before clenching his teeth and waiting for the pain; where, when, or how, he didn't know._

_It was quite some time before Harry became aware of himself again. The immediate pain of the needles had stopped, and now all that was left was the immense throbbing of the whole of both feet. Needless to say, he barely noticed the mere twinge in his left ear now._

_Harry was now gasping, a rasping noise emerging from his throat with each expelling of air. Before he could think better of it, he opened his mouth and also expelled in a harsh, hoarse voice what Snape referred to as Gryffindor stupidity._

_"Is that all you've got? It's going to take more than that, you creepy piece of nuts."_

_There was silence in the chamber for a moment, before the echo of booted feet filled it, and Voldemort's face filled Harry's somewhat disoriented vision._

_"We're far from the end, Harry. There is much to come. Whatever it takes to break you will be implemented, my dear nemesis. Or maybe you would like to have some say, hmmm, Harry? What would you prefer be done next? Where on your body would you next like to suffer? I'm afraid there are limits, however – it must be somewhere with a certain level of sensitivity."_

_Voldemort's sibilant hiss drifted into Harry's undamaged ear, and Harry shuddered with the force of the hatred that flooded through him. He glared into the hooded garnet eyes smirking down at him and whispered through his shredded vocal cords, "I don't give a shit what you do, Voldemort, you will never get what you want from me."_

_Voldemort looked completely undeterred – in fact, he looked faintly amused. Leaning down, he whispered back into Harry's good ear, "I very much look forward to proving you wrong, Potter."_

_Straightening up, he looked to Bellatrix. Seeming to know exactly what he wanted, Harry heard as she moved away before scraping noises came from her direction._

_"Now, Potter…" Voldemort said, his amusement leaking into his voice, "...if you were to get a tattoo, what would it be and where on your body would you request it?"_

_Harry stared at Voldemort before his eyes hardened and he rasped out, "Well, I'd most likely ask for your face, and I'd put it on my arse."_

_Voldemort stiffened, hissing out in an infuriated voice, "That most certainly will not do."_

_Leaning back over, nearly nose to nose with Harry, he hissed, "Not nearly enough pain involved."_

_Then Bellatrix was there, handing over to Voldemort what seemed to be a long rod, and as Harry's eyes followed it to its end they involuntarily widened. There, glowing the violent red the needles were, was the shape of the Dark Mark. It slowly began to drift towards the middle of his chest, and he bit his lip, trying to prepare himself for the pain._

_Horrified, Harry realized Voldemort was going to brand him._

_It seemed like hours later that Harry's screams faded to silence, his chest smoking and sizzling still._

**sSXxXxXxXSs**

Snape sighed softly, wiping Potter's forehead with a damp cloth. Because Voldemort wanted to break Potter, the boy believed his best friends were dead. He believed they had been put through hours of pain and humiliation before their dishonorable death.

Snape winced at the look of pure loathing in Potter's eyes when he had looked at Snape once discovering he was alone in the world. It wasn't Voldemort that Potter had looked at. It was Snape.

_How could you have let them die_, his expression asked. _How did you just stand there and not do anything about it?_

"Where…is he?" The soft voice pulled Snape from his thoughts and he looked down, into Potter's once bright eyes. They were dull now once again, more hazel than the green they were.

"The Dark Lord is discussing the downfall of the order with Lucius and Bellatrix," Snape said expressionlessly, rubbing a salve on Potter's many bruises.

"Leg…hurts…" Potter murmured, trying to shift his broken leg.

"Stop moving, Potter," Snape said without malice, his tone strained, even. "Bellatrix broke it, shattered your knee cap and multiple ribs and other bones. The only thing's I can heal right now are the minor sprains in your wrists and ankles and I can stop the pain and your bleeding your ear. I'm sorry, Potter but you won't be able to hear out of it anymore."

"A…small mercy…" Potter sighed. He closed his eyes and his body began to shake. Within seconds, tears were pouring out of his eyes. Snape set down the salve and picked up the cloth again, dipping it in the cool water and began to wipe away the boy's tears.

Before long, the teenager was asleep.

With another soft sigh, Snape stood and left the cell. It was unfair how much the boy had to go through. At seventeen, he should be having fun with his friends, regardless of the war. He should be talking about Quidditch teams and girls. He shouldn't have to put up with broken bones and power hungry Dark Lord's. It really wasn't all that fair.

* * *

Harry shifted in his sleep, though he gasped and jerked awake as another sob shook his broken body. His best friends were gone. Ginny was gone. Everyone was gone. After seven years, Harry was alone in his battle to fight the Dark Lord.

_I don't want to be alone,_ Harry thought to himself, whimpering. _I want Ron and Hermione to be here with me. I want them there when it all comes to an end._

With his brain foggy with pain and adrenaline, the chemicals in his brain began bringing up different memories from school.

_"You should study you know," Hermione said, her Potions book open on her lap._

_Fifteen year old Harry rolled his eyes. "Hermione, we have four months until end of the year exams. There's plenty of time." Harry smiled at her and turned back to the chess board. "Queen to G3. Check."_

_Ron laughed softly. "You should know by now, mate, she's not going to give it up until we start studying. Bishop to G3. That would be checkmate, Harry. You are terrible at this." Harry rolled his eyes and picked up his charms book._

Harry coughed, sobbing freely, further injuring his tortured body. There was nothing more Voldemort could do to him now. No family, no friends; what did he care for the wizarding world? There was no point anymore. Why keep fighting?

_"What's a dentist?" an eleven-year-old Ron asked in confusion._

_"It's a muggle term for a doctor who helps people with their teeth," Hermione said, a shy smile on her face._

_Ron wrinkled his nose, "Why would you want to work with someone's teeth? That's disgusting!"_

_Harry laughed. "Come on Ron, someone has to do it or everyone would have cavities and stuff."_

_"What's a cavity?" Ron asked. Hermione and Harry looked at each other and paused for a second before bursting out laughing._

If he died, Harry would be able to see his parents again. He could see Sirius and Ron and Hermione. He could apologize to the little girl Voldemort had tortured, thinking that she, as well, was dead. If he died, he could get away from the pain he was feeling. It felt like a good plan.

_"Ask her, Ron," Harry urged. "Go ahead."_

_Fourteen year old Ron grimaced. "What if she says no, mate?" He gestured toward the fifth year across the court yard. "She's a year older!"_

_"You'll never know unless you ask, Ron. Go on! Before someone else takes her!" Harry shoved Ron toward the girl. Ron took a few determined steps forward, though he stopped as a boy – older and taller than he was – sat down beside the girl and put his arm around her shoulders._

_"It's useless, mate," Ron sighed, turning back. "We may as well go together with all the luck we've got."_

_Harry started at Ron for a few seconds before bursting out laughing._

_"I didn't mean it like that!" Ron exclaimed, blushing to his roots._

It was too much. Far too much. He needed out. He needed to get out and go to their funeral. He wanted…no…he _needed_…

"Help," he croaked. "I need…help…" He shifted in an attempt to get to Snape and screamed in pain, his eyes squeezing shut against it.

He heard the door to his cell creak open and felt something lift his broken body. He screamed again, feeling the pain course through him. He was then set down, but something soft was under him.

Managing to open a pained green eye, he saw through swimming vision a pair of slate grey eyes watching him. Arms held him securely, giving him a sense of warmth he'd needed ever since he came in here.

It took him a long while to realize it was Draco, and he was now on his lap. Draco held him as he began to cry, too overwhelmed with everything.

"They're not dead," Draco whispered in assurance as he began to drift off into sleep. "They're still alive and well. They're waiting for you." And then Harry was asleep, a very, very small smile on his face.

He didn't dream, he didn't feel, he didn't see. He was out like a light, and it was bliss. It was bliss and he liked it. His body appreciated it. So he gave up. He just let go.

* * *


End file.
